RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" Poor Raoul. You do realize the title card's about the only excitement you're going to get this evening? The rest is all manly tears and angst. "That's actually okay! I can catch up on my reading!" Oh, Raoul! So erudite you are! "Thanks!"
The title card immediately spritzes into televisual snow that's just as quickly replaced by a clip from one of the absolute worst horror movies of all time, From Hell It Came, whose title reportedly inspired the pithy review, "And to Hell it can return." It's about -- and I kid you not -- a rampaging, radioactive, Polynesian tree named Tabanga who has a fondness for nubile young American blondes. As the rampaging, radioactive, Polynesian tree with a nubile young American blonde in its branchy arms turns to glower at the audience, the camera slowly pans away from the TV upon which this masterpiece is currently screening until a sudden blast of thunder outside snaps Dean bolt upright in bed, where he'd apparently been sleeping next to a never-before-seen brunette. He's not wearing a shirt. I repeat: Dean Winchester is not wearing a shirt at the moment. For those of you playing along at home, we are exactly three minutes and thirty-nine seconds into this evening's presentation. You can thank me later. By the way, in the first indication we receive that Things Are Not Quite Right With El Deano, his Mystical Amulet Of Indeterminate Origin has been replaced by a simple silver chain around his neck. And then I pretty much stopped paying any attention to detail because the camera's pulled back a bit and SHOULDERS! and ARMS! and CHEST! and it's a good thing the mightily puzzled El Deano decides to pull on all of his clothes to wander out into this woman's living room, because if they'd kept him naked for a second longer, I'd have to go lie down for several hours, and I'm on a deadline, here. In any event, Dean flips on a light, and the next thing we know, we're staring at the screen of Darling Sammy's product-placed Motorola Q as Sam receives a call. "Sam!" Dean whispers urgently once his brother's answered. "I don't know where I am! The djinn -- it attacked me!" "'The gin'?" Sam repeats, bemused. "You're drinking gin?" Dean, pacing the floor, impatiently orders Sam to drop it with the jokes, and hisses that after The Frigging Genie flattened its palm against his head, he found himself in bed "next to some hot chick." "Carmen?" Sam prompts. Dean starts to splutter something, but Sam, grinning, cuts him off with, "You're drunk! You're drunk-dialing me!" Heh. Dean protests, but Sam just suggests he get some sleep, and Sam'll see him tomorrow. Sam hangs up immediately and chuckles at his phone for a bit before slinging it off to the side so he might slam shut the book he'd been consulting. A book entitled Criminal Law & Procedure. DUN!